


Part of my mission

by Retsilia



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Basically Just a Retelling, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) is In Denial About Deviancy, Connor's Last Mission Chapter (Detroit: Become Human), Gen, Hart Plaza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 06:57:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20720000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Retsilia/pseuds/Retsilia
Summary: Connor didn’t kill the RK200 android the last time they met, but he was forgiven. He still had a change to make things right. Being discharged from the DPD gives him freedom to move, so CyberLife assigns him a new mission to accomplish and the android heads out, only to be interrupted by his predecessor’s partner. Connor is faced with a dilemma worse than the Kamski test, and suddenly everything goes wrong.It seems like there's just no right path for him.-----“Sure, it would’ve been easier to shoot the leader of the revolution now and end this farce, this massacre about to be. But it wasn’t something he absolutely had to do. And Connor would rather take what he could to not harm the human any more than he already had.”





	Part of my mission

**Author's Note:**

> A retelling of "Connor's last mission" in Detroit: become human.

They stood there in the cold Michigan winter night for far longer than Connor would have liked. He looked at the older man he was holding, dangling his life precariously over the rooftop’s ledge by his jacket collar. He didn’t <strike>want</strike> need to do this. Hank hadn’t needed to do this. Why didn’t he let the android finish his mission? It was all he was made to do. It was all he _could _do. The deviant leader was right there, talking to <strike>his people</strike> the other deviants, readying for a revolution that would endanger human lives. It was dangerous, Connor needed to end this now before it was too late. But lieutenant… He was sure it was something humanity _needed_. How? Why?

Although it had only been seconds, it felt like a lifetime until Connor finally made his decision. He opened his mouth slowly.

“Killing you isn’t part of my mission.”

It wasn’t. It really wasn’t, it wasn’t something Amanda had explicitly told him to do; it wasn’t something he needed to do to make the mission a success still. Sure, it would’ve been easier to shoot the leader of the revolution now and end this farce, this massacre about to be. But it wasn’t something he absolutely had to do. And Connor would rather take what he could to not harm the human any more than he already had (why, they had already fought, Hank was hurt, not as hurt as he could be Connor knew, since the android wasn’t able to fight with all his might, but why was that?).

“But you won’t stop me from accomplishing it”, he added <strike>as a safe measure</strike> for both the human and Amanda, if she was listening. He hoped it was enough. He wished the man would let him be and would stay at home, preferably leave the city altogether for the duration of the now inevitable civil war. But he knew the lieutenant wouldn’t. He was an officer of the law and clearly had a deep set of morals. He wouldn’t leave. But, maybe, he’d leave him alone.

He yanked the lieutenant back to the safety of the flat rooftop, staying behind to look at the revolution farther down the road. Nobody had noticed them, and why would’ve they? Connor had chosen the place carefully, knowing well the charisma that was the RK200, trusting that his captivating words were enough to keep the small army of deviants concentrated on himself. Even if he hadn’t, Connor was an RK800, a state of the art prototype: he didn’t need more than a clear view of the back of the revolution leader’s head and he’d be able to make the shot. If he still had enough time, he could pick up his rifle again and-

The lieutenant’s receding steps halted suddenly. Connor turned when he heard the ruffle of his clothes and the scraping of shoes against cold rooftop. The human was charging against him, against the edge of the roof, against the emptiness that opened right behind Connor.

If he moved, Hank would fall. He would die instantly.

Connor froze. He didn’t move. He didn’t know which one happened.

Hank’s shoulder hit the android’s torso, pushing him backwards. Connor felt the emptiness under his feet, heard the harsh cold wind against his back, saw the lieutenant come to a stop on the ledge.

He opened his preconstruction program and the world in front of his eyes turned gray, time slowing to a crawl. He swept his eyes over the scene before him: his legs were too far off the edge from the push; his back and hands were even farther away, gravity making it impossible to try and flip himself towards the ledge and grab hold; there was a tree behind him, he knew, but it was too far away and off to the side. He couldn’t crab a branch to slow his fall. The walkway under him was far away, too far even for his reinforced mechanical body to withstand it. He would fall head first anyway.

His eyes moved to Hank’s face almost against his will. The scan activated automatically even while the preconstruction was taking place at the same time, making his processor work overtime: the young, happy man in the photo his databank provided was nothing like the face the android was seeing now. There were so many complicated emotions framed by the gray hair, emotions Connor didn’t know how to understand himself, he was a machine after all. His human integration program provided the information against everything else, making warnings flash against his vision of overworking his processor, which he quickly minimized. The newest program provided a list of feelings it recognized:

_Anger_

_Fear_

_Determination_

_Pain (physical)_

_Sadness_

_Disappointment_

_Relief_

_Anxiousness_

_Hurt (emotional)_

_Guilt_

There were more, he knew there were more, there had to be to cause that conflicted look in the human’s eyes. But he couldn’t recognize them, his advanced programs faltering against the amount of information blasting at them from all angles at the same time.

Connor didn’t care.

He scanned Hank’s stress levels, seeing them hovering anywhere between eighty to higher nineties. It could be considered fatal to androids, making them more vulnerable to self-destruct. Humans called it adrenaline. His human integration program highlighted the word _determination_ in response, giving him a dictionary explanation of the word which he dismissed. He knew what determination was: it was the thin line between obsession and stubbornness. He compared himself and Hank and started to understand how thin and wavering the line was.

The memory of finding the lieutenant on the floor of his kitchen, unmoving and a .357 Magnum revolver beside him suddenly flashed across Connor’s mind, and his own stress levels spiked despite already being on a higher spectrum. His processor faltered, his thirium pump skipping a beat he couldn’t fathom a reason to. The gun. He didn’t need to run a statistic program to know, but even that jumped before him, making the gray world flash as red as his LED from too many programs: there was a 86.4% change that the human would return home from this and revert back to his game of roulette (Connor begged to differ, something in him saying the number should be higher). Out of that percent there was only a 4.3% change the human would reload the gun to start a new round.

The bullet was in the cylinder. The next shot would’ve killed him last time.

Finally the gray view shattered, Connor’s processor having had enough of its overuse and forcefully shutting them down. World started moving again, the freezing cold hitting the android as he started his quick fall anew. His memory prompted the data transfer, it’s only way of surviving, and he watched as the lieutenant got farther and farther away, rooftop disappearing towards the sky, and his internal GPS somehow calculated the distance to the ground as he went. There was a cold feeling in his artificial organs, almost like the air around him had somehow slipped past his casing and was now coiling around his biocomponents, and his thirium pump of a heart was faltering. But he wasn’t damaged, there were no cracks on his skin and no wound to give him any explanation for the feeling. He just… Felt it. It reminded him of the Stratford tower, when he had found the <strike>blond deviant</strike> PL600, a key piece of Markus’ group. He had said it then.

He was scared.

_SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^^^_

When he hit the ground, he could feel the sidewalk crush the plating on his head – and _pain pain paIN PAIN PAINPAIN_ – for a microsecond before the gravity forced the rest of his bodyweight down, his main processor and the main frame on his back and neck snapping breaking shattering _PAIN_ before the world turned black and there was nothing more.

_MEMORY UPLOAD SUCSESSFULL._

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written of DBH. Leave a comment if you liked it, if you didn't like it, what did you think, was it nice, or horrible? I'm interested! I have tried to proof read this many times but if there's still some typos or grammar errors you can tell me about those, too. I'll fix it later if you do.


End file.
